


The Night-Shift

by Cinaed



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Community: sg_rarepairings, F/M, Het
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-03-12
Updated: 2008-03-12
Packaged: 2017-10-07 23:30:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/70373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinaed/pseuds/Cinaed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter usually enjoys having the night-shift on Atlantis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Night-Shift

Peter usually enjoys having the night-shift on Atlantis. He doesn't get it often, because usually he makes certain to align his schedule with Doctor Weir (it's easy to do when you're the one making up the schedules). They have a good relationship, and Peter doesn't consider it to be hubris that he believes Doctor Weir works better with him as her assistant. 

When Peter does allow himself the treat of night-shift, he relishes the peace and quiet. Tonight, however, it is even quieter than usual (everyone asleep or attempting to summon the Sandman to their bedsides), and far from peaceful as everyone tries to distance themselves from the day's events. 

It won't be easy to dull the memories, not when five of their number, their friends and colleagues, died screaming from nanites in their heads, nanites that many already whisper were developed by the Ancients everyone is supposed to venerate. Hays, Dumais, Wagner, Johnson, Peterson. The funerals will be spread out over the next few days. Peter isn't looking forward to any of them. 

He closes his eyes, a headache blooming between his eyes, and then jumps, heart leaping into his throat and nestling there as someone calls his name. He hasn't heard anyone approach and the voice -- quiet though it is -- is right behind him and takes him by complete surprise. 

Peter whirls in his chair to face the newcomer and then huffs out a breath, heart creeping back down to his chest, rapid beat slowing to its normal tempo, tensed muscles in his shoulders gradually loosening. 

"Don't _do_ that," he says, sharper than he intends, and Miko's small smile of hello vanishes from her face, replaced by a look that is a raw mixture of concern and hurt. The headache intensifies, radiating down his neck, and he sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Sorry, sorry. A bit tense tonight." 

Her expression shifts to one of silent understanding. "I brought you some tea," is all she says, but Peter takes it for what it is: _Apology accepted. It's been a long day, after all_. She holds out a steaming cup, one he recognizes from her personal tea set. 

He breathes in -- it's one of her cherished blends from Japan, strong and spicy-scented -- and then says, "Have I mentioned I love you?" His tone is teasing and the technician on duty -- a sleep-eyed Chuck -- lifts his gaze from one of the monitors long enough to grin and share in the joke. 

Only Miko can see the seriousness in Peter's eyes. Another smile curves her lips, this one tinged with mischief. "Not lately," she retorts, equally teasing, and urges him to take the cup. She sits down next to him, curls her feet beneath her. Softer, so that Chuck cannot overhear, she adds, "I couldn't sleep and thought you would like some company." 

"Your company is always welcome," he assures her, knowing it sounds trite, but sincerity colors each syllable. He takes a slow, appreciative sip of the tea and a delighted sigh escapes his lips as the taste bursts upon his tongue and begins to chase away his headache. 

Setting the cup down -- away from the consoles, because he doesn't desire or need one of Zelenka or McKay's patented tirades on why food and drink should not be anywhere near the consoles -- he takes Miko's hand, the one Chuck cannot see, and squeezes it gently, lets his thumb stroke the inside of her delicate wrist. "Thank you," he murmurs, knowing that she, too, will take it for what it is: _Thank you for the tea and for being here_. 

The smile she offers him is just as sweet and beautiful as the first time she graced him with it, that first night they had laughed and fumbled their way towards ecstasy on one of Atlantis's despairingly small beds. Just like the first time, it makes his breath catch in his throat and something go light and easy in his chest.

Peter smiles back and turns back towards the console, her hand still in his. The night seems more peaceful now, though, and far less lonely.


End file.
